Symmetry
by PandaPrinzessin
Summary: Ritsuka has always known there are two of them, symmetrical yet totally different. But when the other turns up unexpectedly, everything he thought he had is put at risk. Just who is the real Ritsuka? Ritsuka x Soubi
1. Cycle

**A/N: **Soooo, yes, this _is _my first Loveless fanfic- originally I hadn't intended to do fiction for any fandoms other than Ace Attorney, but then I became utterly hooked on the manga while at a loose end in my own original fiction, and I always figure fanfics are a great way to keep your writing going while you're figuring out what needs to be done to your own stuff ^^

I was totally intrigued by the idea of the "other Ritsuka" his mother always mentions and that prompted the idea for this fic- how would the characters react if this Ritsuka were to come back? What would happen to the current Ritsuka? How would the choice be made as to which should stay and which should leave? If that sounds like something which would appeal to you (not to mention the promise of Ritsuka x Soubi), please stick around and enjoy :3 I'll be switching between Soubi and Ritsuka's POV but it should be pretty easy to tell which is narrating =)

* * *

**Chapter 1- Cycle**

It's a cycle. A law, a force, a power unto its own and it doesn't stop revolving in the same broken circle. I should be running, I know that- I should have seen the first danger signs and sprinted for the door, after all it isn't as though I don't know them off by heart. But I don't. I stay, I freeze, a fox in the headlights, as the world becomes shatterings and the clang of cutlery, upturned tables, sharp edges that come from nowhere and can't be fended off in time.

There are only three colours of light, did you know that? Those three, red, green and blue make up everything, every colour- until I found this out, I didn't know that the colour white was just as much of a lie as anything else. No matter though; there is no white in this world, in this cramped universe of kitchen, there is only red and the absence of red. Skin splits. Something snaps- I think it might be my finger- the smallest firework ever heard and it's over as suddenly as it began. She waits for any sign of the "real Ritsuka" and when none is forthcoming, leaves, leaves me on the kitchen floor with sparks behind my eyes, wondering why I still let it happen every time.

I'm not really sure how the transition from floor to street gets made, all I know is that I'm running, all I know is anywhere but home is the best place. Night is beautiful, even in the city- moonlight bisecting the flats and tree trunks into weird angles, the harsh sodium glare of the streetlights, the river so dark you could fall into it easily and I wonder for a moment whether I should. After all, there have been more terrible things happening at nighttime.

_There's blood, yes, blood and too much pain to be held beneath the skin. There's submission, defeat and the hideous injustice that I wasn't told. He says it doesn't hurt. Liar. Idiot. Soubi..._

I suddenly know where I am going.

* * *

I know where he lives, of course I do- though it's not as if I've had much cause to use this, turning up at people's windowframes in the middle of the night isn't really my style, unlike some. I make my way with annoying difficulty up the twisted staircase that sticks out from the side of the building and knock twice at the door.

_Please don't let it be Kio..._

I am in no such luck. Kio appears at the door, ridiculously bouncy as always and frowns, before adopting a wicked smile and beckoning me in.

"How come you're here in the middle of the night, Ricchan? I mean I always _knew _Sou-chan totally had a Lolita complex but I didn't think you'd go along with it, you shout if something happens, okay? I'll call the cops faster than you can say "pickled octopus"! Oh, but..." He pauses for a moment.

"You probably wouldn't want me to do that, if you came all the way here specially... No! No kids are going to be molested by Sou-chan on my watch!"

I manage a brief smile. "That isn't what I'm here for. I want to see Soubi." I leave unspoken the phrase that's running through my head- Soubi isn't interested in my ears now, at least that's what he says.

A strange thing happens to his reply, it warps at the corners and I can't hear it properly. Everything's suddenly heavy, too heavy for my legs and I'm face-to-face with the carpet before I know it. I'd never tell Soubi but I actually really like his apartment- the carpet that's the colour of oatmeal and pleasantly bobbly, the paint fumes, the peace...

I think I see Kio's face looming above me, he's trying to tell me something, but darkness leaks in before I can answer and I'm gone, floating in a place where no-one can reach me, not even myself.

* * *

**A/N:** Well, that's Chapter One over with, everyone! If you liked it, please review, if you hated it, please review too- I like feedback on how I can improve my writing 3 And rest assured, people, I have not killed off Ritsuka XD What would I write about for the rest of the story if I had?


	2. Comfort

I hate being interrupted while I'm painting. It's something only an artist could understand- you create your own little world where all that exists is the canvas, the myriad confused colours of the paint, the object you are trying to bring to life. Alchemy in its simplest form; conjuring up something from a blank space, breathing life into something which only took form inside your head and watching it be reborn through your brush.

I paint entirely from memory, the opposite of what every art teacher will say you should do. I paint only what I remember. And yet the butterflies I paint are still alive, fluttering, perching on flowers. They are not the ones I remember, the ones pinned to the wall in Ritsu-sensei's office- the ones I try not to remember. There are some things you just don't forget.

But, strangely, I am not painting butterflies this evening. In fact it isn't clear even to me what I intend to put on the canvas until the lines resolve themselves into a shape I think I know better than anything else, shadow and highlight themselves with colours I could see even if I had my eyes closed.

_Ritsuka..._

You see, sometimes I find myself in the worst of situations. I paint things that I love.

* * *

There's noise coming from the door and I put down my brush, frowning. Who calls at midnight? Who would want to see me or Kio that badly? Two familiar syllables puncture my composure, though I say it with three and it seems that my sketch held magic indeed. Magic enough to summon him up at this hour at least. There's a percussive thump, a gasp. I run for the door as fast as my feet will carry me.

It's Ritsuka, of course it's Ritsuka- in the only state he ever voluntarily comes to me in; the state after his mother has finished trying to force him back into the skin he used to wear two years ago, collapsed on the carpet while Kio kneels over him.

"H-he came in, he wanted to see you... Then he just crumpled!" Kio babbles, not knowing what he should do or leave undone. I know what to do, after all, pain is second nature to me, occasionally first some would argue. I know how to bandage, splint, stitch, how to pull a body back together after it's been broken.

It seems that I go on autopilot, if there's anyone who can deal competently with injuries, it has to be me- though I never received any first aid training. Mine was learnt entirely from experience. I splint Ritsuka's broken finger, bandage and remove slivers of glass from the cuts on his arm, stick plaster over the new ones on his face and gently reject all Kio's offers of help. Selfish as it might sound, I won't trust Ritsuka to anyone else, especially in this state.

I settle him in the crook of my arm- he will be frightened when he comes to and I want mine to be the first face he sees. Or maybe it's just an excuse to hold him. Does it really matter either way?

* * *

You know, nobody ever really thinks of waking up as a painful thing- maybe unwelcome, maybe bothersome, but nothing to do with genuine pain. Nociception, the capacity to feel pain, one of the additional senses we possess along with the usual five; the forgotten sense, the one I wish momentarily had never existed.

Everything stings, oddly it's the kind that comes with antiseptic, and my finger throbs dully where the bone is snapped but it's stiff- I can feel it's been splinted. I become aware of warmth (thanks to good old thermoception, in case you were wondering) and an arm wrapped around me, cushioning me. I open my eyes. I freeze.

"_S-Soubi!_" I wriggle out of his embrace as rapidly as I can, the blood rushing to my face and I pray this doesn't invite a comment on how cute I am when I blush.

He holds both hands up, as if to declare himself innocent of the grand crime of doing the very thing I simultaneously want him to do but wish he wouldn't and smiles.

"I was only taking care of you, Ritsuka. She hit you again. Didn't she?"

There are a whole litany of excuses I could pull out in response to this- I fell, I was knocked down by a cyclist, wasn't looking where I was going and walked into something... But I know none of these would work on Soubi. After all, he's heard it happen, heard me crying and begging and I'm humiliated that he knows all about it.

I just nod briefly, hoping that will suffice. I'm pretty sure he's noticed that it's worse tonight- this is the first time a bone's been broken- but to my relief, he doesn't mention this.

"You know it doesn't have to be this way... You could come and live with me. Child abuse; that's a strong reason to take custody of a child away and if-"

He stops talking, as my hand, the one with all the fingers intact, flies out with a strength I had no idea it possessed and cracks across his cheekbone.

"Don't say that! She's my mother! She can't do without me!" I yell, sounding so childish that it's embarrassing. Soubi's holding a hand to his face and I guess I must have hit him harder than I thought. No. He deserved it. So why do I feel like I've hit myself?

"Violence doesn't become you, Ritsuka." he says, sounding more sad than reproachful.

I do the only thing I can think of to apologise, a child's response. I shuffle into the same position I was in when I woke, I fit my head into that hollow in Soubi's neck where it fits just right, I let him wrap his arms around me. I don't complain when he reaches to gently rub the spot behind my ears, one of the many things I hate him doing, because it's _that _spot, the one that makes me purr like the cat I still resemble.

All I can think is that Kio would have a fit if he was still in the room (his absence probably due to Soubi)- I'm practically curled up in Soubi's _lap _for crying out loud, but I'm so sleepy that nothing really seems to matter.

"I love you, Ritsuka. Go to sleep..." Soubi murmurs and I don't have the energy to do anything more than growl a sleepy _don't say that to me, Soubi_. There's something not quite right with this level of tranquillity, something that feels more like the calm before the storm than anything else. But like the idiot I am, I ignore this as I drift off into dreamless space.

* * *

**A/N: **Aww, aren't they sweet ^^ Sorry about the length of this chapter, I wanted to have a chapter just for Soubi and Ritsuka to do their little "I love you, wait, no, I don't... I mean I think I don't...or maybe I do?" thing before the story twists and the "real" Ritsuka appears. It's not going to happy and fluffy the whole way through, I'm afraid :3


	3. Seeing Double

**A/N: **Okay, guys, in response to the reviews, I'm gonna let you in on a secret- **_I don't plan to kill off either Ritsuka or Soubi_** ^^ As excellent as Loveless is for angst, I really don't want to kill off my favourite pairing! But as to _which _Ritsuka makes it through to the end of the story, I'm going to leave you to speculate for now... Teehee :3 Oh, and I'm introducing two threats to Ritsuka and Soubi's happy little "will they, won't they" relationship... one you'll see in this chapter, but the other you'll have to wait a little while longer for XD See if you can guess who or what it is ^^

* * *

_I'm coming. You should be expecting it really- did you think I would hide away after you'd seen me once? Weren't you pleased to see me? You have a little time left, days perhaps, before I get there; trains are slow and people unreliable and of course it has to be done in secrecy, the darkest kind there is. If you're not confused now, I have to say I'm disappointed, but don't worry, I'll compensate when I arrive. I think maybe that's how I like you best; when you don't know your pretty little head from your tail. I'm coming, Ritsuka. I'll see you soon._

* * *

It's rained during the night- the soft springtime kind that tastes like memories, there one moment and gone the next, the kind that reminds me that no matter how much I might want it to, nothing lasts forever. I don't like to speculate on what I would trade to have the morning last for a lifetime- I suspect thoughts like these are bound to tempt some species of devil.

Ritsuka's eating cherries for breakfast, though it's not the season for them, they're shipped in, carbon footprint be damned, in planes and freight trains and it really isn't a pleasant thought to wonder how many hands hauled them around before they made it to his mouth. He clearly doesn't know or care about this, for he's rasping the flesh off the stones with his tongue in what could only be described as a kind of ecstasy. Ritsuka, with the dawn trapped in his eyes, looks as though someone's handed him the world on a silver platter rather than a bowl of fruit.

I don't eat cherries myself, the fruit is too human for me- the way it bruises and bleeds, the way you can split it to the core in one bite.

_"Put your hands against the wall."_

_"It's going to hurt. Isn't it?"_

_A pause. There is no need for anything other than the truth here- for all he's a child, sheltering children never did them any favours now, did it?_

_"Yes." No assent is given, no signal, they are not equals on this field of play. One commands, the other obeys. Close now, too close- they are the machine; an act that should be organic, that should be given not taken. They are a mockery, puppets dancing on a broken string and their heartbeats don't even match. Tears spill from beneath closed eyelids- why cry, little one? You're only doing what you're told. Brief blackness, brief burst of colour and it's over. _

_He waits for the command not to tell anyone but it does not come this time. What use have they for secrets when all the world will see him for what he is the moment he steps from the room? Good Soubi. Well done Soubi. Poor obedient little Soubi._

_This has nothing to do with me, that boy was not me. At least this is what I tell myself._

Or maybe I'm just being fanciful. It's only a cherry after all. Cherries have nothing to do with a child who lost his childhood barely halfway through, who was afraid to look in the mirror in case his reflection disappeared too, who did not know that there was a word for what was happening. Four-lettered and ugly as sin- a word I never used even after I knew what it meant. And, in case you were wondering, it had absolutely nothing to do with love. In case you were wondering... Ritsuka doesn't know. And I will never tell him.

At the table, Ritsuka stops in his slow dismembering of the unfortunate cherries- a shame if there ever was one, I was enjoying that smile- and glances at me with concern.

"Are you okay, Soubi? You look like you've seen a ghost..."

I shrug. "Sometimes I feel like a ghost. Maybe if you weren't here, I wouldn't exist any more."

I expect a reprimand from him- something along the lines of _don't be such a drama queen, Soubi_, but instead I am rewarded with the scrape of his chair against the floor as he abandons his beloved cherries to approach me, with a small, hot hand slipped into my own.

Ritsuka turns his face to mine and I'm lost. Quite simply breathless.

"Would you like to go out for a while?" he asks.

* * *

We don't go far, just to the park; I think maybe we're both drawn to the old threadbare familiarity of the place. Ritsuka holds my hand without any of the usual show of embarrassment, though he draws the line at publicly recreating the circumstances of the first time we found ourselves here.

"You can't kiss me like _that_ when other people are around, Soubi! They'll think you're a child molester or something." he protests, squirming away.

"Oh? Is that so?" I whisper, bringing my mouth to rest against the seashell whorls of his ear. "Does that mean I can do it when it's just you and me?"

"I- You know that's not what I meant!" Ritsuka squeaks and, oh, I know I shouldn't tease him like this, but he is inconceivably adorable whe he blushes. It's at moments like this that I remember he's only twelve, despite his maturity and despite my teasing, we both know I wouldn't attempt anything further than kissing until he is older.

I settle for a compromise, trading my hold on his hand for an arm twined around his waist and he leans into my side, seemingly just as satisfied with the outcome. We stay like this, enmeshed, on a park bench until the sky begins to smudge over with darkness. Implausible as it seems, we've passed almost the entire day here.

"I have to go home... I already broke my curfew last night- if I don't go back now, things will just be worse." Ritsuka is the voice of reason, a role that should technically be mine, but I wonder, would any reasoning of mine be reason at all? I am a creature who thrives on command, on subjugation and wave upon wave of fresh pain- one you can carve your name into with no complaint. Anything that is reason to me would probably sound little less than insanity to anyone else.

_Why cry, little one? Tears run their course in a matter of minutes, but this new existence will take some getting used to. If you have never cracked a world clean across to find that the space within is deafening when heard with only one pair of ears and known that you can never, never go back... then you will never understand. _

I nod. "I'll take you home, then." I feel a traitor- we both know precisely what awaits him at home. Broken glass and fractured bones. Crime and punishment. It seems that we are not so very different after all; no, that's ridiculous. I seek punishment, Ritsuka just does not know how to run from it fast enough.

"I think I left my coat back at yours..." Ritsuka mumbles, risking a glance up at me. "Do you think we could go back and get it before-" He can't complete the sentence without recognising it for what it is. A cry for help, however temporary.

"Of course. Anything for you."

* * *

Predictably, the day has gone full circle, back exactly to where we started; ready to repeat the same sorrowful old events. If there's such a thing as fate, it doesn't smile on us.

We step through the doorway to find, just as predictably, Kio waiting. His eyes flick to Ritsuka and he blanches an unhealthy bleached shade of white.

"Uhhh... Sou-chan, Ricchan... I think there's something you need to see. Now." The words skitter out of his mouth- he looks genuinely frightened as he gestures to the next room, my room.

Ritsuka tugs at my hand, the coat forgotten, we move into the room.

_Impossible._

A boy stands in the room, a small boy. One who is in every way a replica of the one who stands beside me, his fingernails biting into my palm as he too, takes in the the sheer twisted absurdity of the scenario.

"Who are you?" Ritsuka manages, in little more than a whisper.

"Who am I?" The boy, Ritsuka's mirror image, tips his head to one side and flashes a brilliant smile.

"Don't you remember? _You called for me. _I'm Aoyagi Ritsuka."

* * *

**A/N: **Oh, snap! Cliffhanger! Sorry to keep you in suspense, but all (that is to say, slightly more) will be revealed in the next chapter. And the flashbacks? Well, Soubi had such a twisted childhood, I figured he had to remember at least a little of it- I actually hadn't planned on including them until the whole cherry image came up. Blame it on the fact it's cherry season here... Or Ritsu, whichever you like ^^ They might seem irrelevant at the moment, but pretty soon, Soubi is going to have to make a choice and I just wanted some emphasis on how unaccustomed he actually is to making choices- after all, complete obedience is pretty much all he knows.

So, long author's note over, hope you enjoyed this chapter and stay tuned for the next instalment of "Symmetry" 3


	4. A Game

**A/N: **Mwahaha, yes, I am evil, I know for leaving you all on such a cliffhanger last chapter =P Let's just say the power went to my head? Oh, and the fact that I'm also working on _another _Loveless story at the moment, which will be posted as soon as I get my rear in gear and finish "Symmetry" :3

* * *

_A riddle, dear readers. Two boys in a room, both identical down to the most minute detail, identical save for the bandages. There is a choice to be made here, a veritable Solomon's choice. Which shall remain Loveless? Who is the real Aoyagi Ritsuka? And how will you ever choose between them? To me, it makes no difference either way- when all is said and done, I will still have what I want. Always the opportunist, I can see how things will play out, all the little cracks and flaws to be exploited. Because, you see I have the advantage. I know them both. And so the curtain rises... Let the game begin._

* * *

"Don't you remember? _You called for me._ I'm Aoyagi Ritsuka."

It's true. It's coldly and patently true and I bite my lip, trying to avoid Soubi's gaze. I know what he wants me to say- that this is all a joke, or a hallucination perhaps, that there is only one Ritsuka and he is me without a shadow of a doubt. But there are plainly and painfully two Ritsukas and, you see, I have no idea which one is real. Whether I am real.

A rose by any other name would smell as sweet. But two roses with the same name? Well, that's a tragedy in the making, if ever there was one and we are so evidently carbon copies of each other that already I can see there is no way this won't end in tears.

And the most terrible truth is that I _did _call for him.

_"What have you done with him? You aren't my Ritsuka! Where is he?"_

_I don't know. Oh, I don't know, I don't know, I don't know... I know that the part of the brain which controls fear is no bigger than an almond, that air becomes liquid at about minus 190 degrees, that an octopus has three hearts, but I don't know the answer to the million-dollar question and I don't need the resounding crash of glass or the familiar metallic taste of blood to tell me that once again I've lost._

_Would you like to phone a friend? Fifty-fifty? Or ask the audience? Hello, hello, can you help me? Can anyone help me this time? Loveless, come in, Loveless, no, I don't read you, maybe you have the wrong number... Hello, hello, I don't know why you say goodbye, I say hello- oh, please just come back, come back... _

_Silence, cruel silence and I'm alone, alone. I don't think I can get up, maybe I'll just sleep here tonight? _

_"Why won't you come back, Ritsuka? Please... please come back..." My voice echoes out into a space so utterly empty that I'm sure no-one will ever hear me. I should call for Soubi. But I don't. I curl into a foetal position, hoping that somehow, maybe things will be all right and it's hardly surprising that on this count I'm wrong once again._

I don't want to remember. I have to remember. But the thing is, you see, that when I try it all comes out in a jumble- I remember things which couldn't have happened, words which don't exist and I'm just so confused that it all spills out between my eyelashes and I'm crying harder than I think I ever have before.

An arm winds around my waist, there's a shoulder to cry on and I press my face into it. Stupid, stupid little Ritsuka, shedding salt water faster than he can replace it, so hopelessly inefficient. I know who the shoulder belongs to- it's mine, mine and not mine, the other Ritsuka's and I catch an inkling of why they all adored him so much. He didn't have to be asked to comfort me. He did it of his own free will.

Ritsuka and not-Ritsuka, shadow and sunshine, both claiming possession of the same life. Only space for one.

* * *

He releases me and steps back, surveying me with obvious interest- come one, come all and gaze at a boy disintegrating...

"Don't cry, Ritsuka." he smiles, such a lovely smile, the way mine could be if I ever had anything to smile about.

"I know you don't want to go... so we'll play a game!"

I risk a glance at Soubi. He doesn't move, he doesn't say anything. I think maybe he's still trying to convince himself that he's only seeing double, that he won't have have to choose between us sooner or later- whatever the reason, he's doing what I like to call his "Venus di Milo act", so still that you could almost believe he was marble rather than living flesh.

Seeing that I can't hope for Soubi to rescue me now, I nod blindly.

"Okay. What kind of game?"

"The Becoming Ritsuka Game! You and I have two weeks to become Ritsuka. Whoever wins over the most people and fits in the best with your life wins the game and stays Ritsuka. The other one... disappears."

All or nothing- the highest staked game there is. If I win, I keep everything I've managed to build up over the last two years. If I lose... I lose Soubi. I lose myself. Everything.

"Fine, then. I'll play." The voice that comes out doesn't sound like mine, it sounds tiredly authoritative, it's the voice of someone who knows he has no choices left. No more lifelines. Is that your final answer, Ritsuka?

"Why are you doing this, Ritsuka?" Soubi's voice is infinitely sad and I don't know what to make of this. I've never heard him like this before.

"I don't have a choice... He-", and here I gesture to my mirror image, "He has the right to be Ritsuka- this was his life first. Don't you see, Soubi? He's giving me a chance to prove that it's mine now."

Nothing but a nod in return, but I know he understands. If there is anyone on the face of this perplexing earth who understands completely what it is like to have no options left, it's Soubi.

Final answer, Ritsuka? Final answer.

* * *

**A/N: **Ouch, sorry for the shortness of this chapter, guys- I wanted to rescue you from the cliffhanger before I go into deeper detail on this one. To further explain the concept of two Ritsukas- in short, what I'm going for is that at the moment, neither of the Ritsukas are the "real" one, hence the game. Whoever wins the game stays as Ritsuka and whoever loses vanishes away into nothing :3

And if you wondered why Ritsuka is essentially spouting nonsense throughout most of the flashback, he's basically trying to mentally tune out while Misaki is beating him- it's called dissociation, I believe.

If you got the "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire" references, you win quintuple cookies 3

See you in the next, hopefully longer, chapter, my darlings! Oh, and can any of you guess who our mysterious italicised voice is at the beginning of this chapter and the previous? They'll be showing up shortly...


	5. One Up

A/N:

First and foremost, thank you all for the lovely reviews! It really means something to me to know that people are enjoying my little ramblings :3 To everyone who put "Symmetry" on their Story Alerts and Favourite Stories, I love you guys! Have a new chapter, darlings...

* * *

_Hmmm. Did things just get a little more interesting or is that wishful thinking? Don't ask me how I know all this- I've been watching is all. I watch you like a cat with a canary cage and that you haven't noticed anything yet only serves to corroborate everything I ever said about you. Weak. Helpless. Quite how he expects you to save him when you can't even save yourself is beyond my simple understanding, I'm afraid. But I'll leave the debating for now; the fact remains that you have something that I want, something that I plan to take back. Remember how I always used to say you'd be the death of me if you didn't learn to be more careful? Ironically enough, I have a feeling I'll probably be the death of you. Because you're still so careless, so weak and while I have no doubt you'll fight to the bitter end to keep what little you have, I'll still win in the end. I'm one up on you. _

* * *

There's a clock ticking. I tune into the sound, into a different frequency until I cannot hear what is happening any more, until the terrifying identicality of the two before me doesn't seem as strange. There is something very comforting about deafness- perhaps it's the relief of not having to make your mind up whether what is being said is something you want to hear or not, the firm reassurance that when you have no choices left, you can't be wrong even if you try. You could call me indecisive. You could call me delusional. Or you could simply call me human.

"Soubi? _Soubi!_"

Actually, there's one sound that I could never shut out- it's too subcutaneous, so close beneath my skin that I can't choose but hear it. Little Ritsuka. Do you still believe yourself so powerless? Perhaps neither of us realised that you had my heart on a string from the very beginning.

I raise my head. "Yes? What's wrong?"

"You were doing your statue thing again." Ritsuka frowns, folding his arms; a gesture that on any other day would bespeak disapproval but now just seems as though he is afraid that if he lets go, he might just fall apart at the seams.

"I.. I need you to take me home." One sentence, only one but it shatters him. I remember last night, patching him up, splinting and stitching, but there is always something that cannot be solved with the ordinary formula of first-aid kit. I see him break from every time his mother rejects him, every time she denies him his name; see him roll around the ugly word on his tongue, _lovelesslovelessloveless_ and believe it could be true.

I wonder whether I might be breaking too.

And a little demon sitting on my shoulder speaks up. It's no surprise, I have my fair share of them, but just like everything else, I've learnt how to block them out, how to make myself deaf. The only difference this time is that I listen.

_Send the other one. She won't hurt him, after all, he's "her Ritsuka"... Send the other one and you can keep him safe. After all that's what you want, that's what you'd sell your soul for if you thought you had one left..._

"I can't," I pause for a moment, trying not to meet his eye. "But I can take him."

* * *

I'm one down and we've barely even started. It's like there's a scoreboard; home versus challengers, though which is which is anyone's guess, and the zero that hovers above my name is so exponentially empty that it hurts.

Soubi. He doesn't know he's hurting me but he does, he always does and I wonder, not for the first time, whether the complete transubstantiation that comes over me when I am close to him, that transformation into something lighter than flesh and bone, the sheer feeling of weightlessness, can be worth this much pain.

You see, I can't even win over my own mother, the one who's supposed to love me unconditionally and above all else. I'm somehow the wrong shape- I'm not supposed to like shiitake mushrooms but I always forget and accept when I'm offered them at dinner, I tense up in hugs so you can feel my vertebrae through my skin, I read books that I shouldn't understand properly.

I cast a glance at the other Ritsuka. He doesn't read Nietzsche, he isn't awkward and quick-tempered. He smiles at me when he sees me looking and it's a smile of such radiance that I have to turn my eyes away.

"Fine."

I don't need more than the one word. I agree because it's the only way forward. My stitches will stay in tonight, I will not have to curl up small on the floor like I'm trying to fold myself out of existence. I'll be a point down, a point that can be never be regained because I will never be the favourite. But tonight, I'll fall asleep on the sofa like I always do when I spend the night here and I'll wake up in Soubi's bed and pretend like nestling against him in a maelstrom of duvet doesn't make my heart lurch so dizzyingly. Like I don't love him too much for my own good.

He thinks he's saving me. And I don't whether he can, because I know for certain that I can't.

I have an overwhelming suspicion that I don't have enough of a hold on this world to win by myself and I wish for a moment that I knew where he'd gone, my ten-year old self and whether it really was my plea that breathed him back into existence. Whether where he went wasn't so bad or whether it was how I imagine it, a crushing oblivion of just nothing, nothing, _nothing. _

_Nothing is the absence of anything. To speak of a thing, you must speak of a thing which exists._

I'm nothing, by definition, if not physically. So when Soubi says he loves me, I can't do anything but turn away because technically it just isn't possible.

If you multiply any number by zero, you're still left with the same emptiness you began with- perpetual disappointment, an equation that never fails. I should know. I'm good at maths.

"Take the coat." I manage before I turn and pad into the next room and really, it isn't surprising that I can't hear my own footsteps. I pretend I don't hear the gentle, barely-audible whisper of _I love you, Ritsuka _that follows me but when I'm alone, I sit on the floor and let them sink into my skin and they're warm in only the way that words pulled from the depths of a person's heart can be.

_He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me... but, oh, he shouldn't._

* * *

I do take the coat- a plain anorak, dark grey with a fleece lining and the waterproofing rubbed white in places that fits the other Ritsuka like a glove, a fact that momentarily surprises me. Ritsuka hasn't grown any taller since he was ten.

_"Plants don't grow if you don't water them, Soubi-kun."_

A rare moment of gentleness from a man to whom compassion was a dead language, just as antiquated and useless. There were plants on the windowsill, geraniums and ornamental cabbages, pale frosty violas and a lone cactus, isolated by its own ugliness.

My memory must be defective. Or else I would like to believe that my worth was just a little more than that of a plant.

He's curiously pleasant company, this little one, more like Ritsuka's friend Yuiko than Ritsuka himself- the two have something of the same bubbly abandon, people with the impossible ability to just be happy. A relic from a time when all the youngest Aoyagi had to do was smile for the world to spin backwards on its axis.

But he is not my Ritsuka. My shadowy little one who tries so very hard to stretch himself into the frame his mother wants him to fill, so outspoken and unexpectedly tender; who clings to me in the early hours when he thinks I am asleep as though the unity I know he so desperately desires could be achieved by touch. The one I have always been waiting for while my body blindly followed commands and any pain that was incurred didn't matter because my soul didn't belong to me any more than it did to Ritsu or to Seimei.

No, anything that was ever mine to give belonged to him from the start.

"Will Mom be pleased to see me?" chirrups the other Ritsuka from my side, the cheer replaced for a second with a shade of doubt.

"Yes. Yes, I think she will." I nod. "I'll leave you by the door and you'll have to knock by yourself."

He beams and bounces ahead, hand waving an arc through the air as he approaches the door.

"'Bye, Soubiii! See you tomorrow!"

Tomorrow. Not if I can help it. I leave as quickly as I can, desperate to miss the moment when Misaki steps forward and embraces the son she thinks is the only one, to avoid her tears and the mantra of _Ritsuka, my Ritsuka _repeated like a prayer offered up to a god who may have listened for once. I am not quick enough.

When I return, it's close on midnight, the hours melting misty into tomorrow as if everything that happened today were nothing but a passing dream. Ritsuka's fallen asleep in front of the canvas that bears a third likeness of him and his eyelids tremble as I pick him up, a rehearsal for tears that don't come.

And when we sleep, we are together and not together, heartbeats in unison, hearts a mystery, as though any world created by the blurring boundaries of the bedclothes is one in which we are entwined and cannot be touched.

* * *

**A/N**: Whew... I have to admit, coming up with a structure for this chapter just about killed me, hence the horrible delay in getting it posted :3 Please be sure to let me know what you think- your reviews give me extra motivation to get going with that next chapter *hint hint*

Until then, au revoir, we'll meet again in Chapter Six ^^


	6. Waking Is The Hardest Part

**A/N: **Oh God, the DELAAYY on this chapter is awful I know... All I can say is that writer's block is one hell of a thing to shift DX That and I've been concentrating more on my original fiction recently~ I do have an ending plotted out for the story, though it's a bit sketchy at the moment. I'd be interested to know what kind of ending you guys think would be good though. It probably won't change my plans but any ideas would definitely be taken into consideration ^^

* * *

_Bear with me, if you will. Leave this touching scene for now- though if I'm to be honest, it sickens me- and come with me. Leave them to dissolve into the tired old routine of sleep and come to another house. From the outside, you might think the two were essentially the same- the same basic recipe of concrete, steel and double glazing- but you would be wrong. _

_This house is happy in a way it hasn't been for two years. In fact, you could be forgiven for thinking yourself a traveller in time, so different does it appear from that of a few nights ago. Morning is kind to this house, light spilling golden across the breakfast table, aureoled in the hair of the mother and child who sit companionably there munching cereal._

_A glance at the clock confirms Misaki's suspicions and she rises to clear away the emptied bowls, one hand pushing the child gently towards the door. _

_"You don't want to be late for school now." _

_Her Ritsuka sighs dramatically in that theatrical way that only children can but obediently picks up his satchel and accepts the bento pressed on him with a wide smile. She follows him to the door and scoops him in for a hug- this is her Ritsuka, of that there can be no doubt, he is not angular and awkward beneath her hands like the imposter. When he hugs her back, he does it as though nobody in the world could be more important than she is._

_"Bye, Mom!"_

_"Have a nice day, darling." She waves him to the end of the path and stops for a moment. There's somehow a space, as though something is missing, though what could be missing now that she has everything she wants?_

_Well. Apart from me of course. But still it seems to her that something is gone and cannot be reclaimed, not today or any other day._

_Are you awake now, little brother? You never did know when to run, little Ritsuka. Let's see if you'll run from me fast enough. _

* * *

I think I might have slept in. It's hard to be sure with the blinds closed but if you've ever overslept, you'll know how you don't need the light to tell you- the sheer weight of all those hours you frittered away behind closed eyelids presses down on your spine like an insistent hand. A heavy, anaesthetised feeling of guilt because time is the one thing you cannot claw back once it's slipped through your fingers.

How long have I been here? Days? Weeks? Minutes? My exhausted brain fumbles with the logistics and can't seem to produce any image that is not myself doubled across a hundred lines of symmetry. Memory fails me, blurring in and out of focus, I see halves of faces, the clock reversed, broken plates on the floor.

There's no reason for me to be so tired, for me to have slept so long.

_Thinking of you... it wears me out. I don't want to be always thinking of you._

There is every reason for me to be tired. Waking or sleeping, I'm haunted and I have been running so blindly that it didn't occur to me to notice the palpable need I have to be close to him, to feel him knotted through my veins, beneath the skin that divides us.

_When the time comes, will you choose me? Do you love me the way you say you do?_

Time, time, time. I can't help but feel that it's running out for me.

But despite myself, I smile just a little. This gloomy melodrama is not like me at all- when I am down, I've never stayed down for very long. Soubi must be rubbing off on me, I think to myself. Or perhaps it's just that things were easier when love and possession were simply words, dictionary entries that didn't mean much of anything.

_Oh, you idiot... You love him. It's just not something you think you could ever say. _

Breakfast. That's what I need. I'll tell him at breakfast.

But when I reach the kitchen, Soubi isn't there. There's a fruit salad on the table, banana and pineapple, plums and white peaches, all sliced into fancy shapes and almost too pretty to eat. I'm more interested in the note tucked beneath the bowl though and I pull it out to study.

_I would have made pancakes but I thought they would be cold by the time you woke up. Kio's making me go to class today, so I'm making him stay here with you. _

_Don't forget I love you. _

_Soubi _

Class? Then it hits me- it's Monday and I'm not at school. The other Ritsuka is. More points adding up against me and I don't know whether I should be angry or sad or just afraid because at this point, it's really beginning to seem as though I cannot possibly win.

In the end, I am none of the above. I sit quietly at the table and eat my fruit, reading over the note again and again, like the words might float off the paper if I take my eyes off it.

"Huh. You're up late, Ricchan!" Kio bounces into the kitchen with all his customary spring, but pauses a little way off from me and squints as though he's trying to ascertain that I'm really there.

"You are... you, right? Not the other one?"

I should have been expecting this, I know. I force my facial muscles into some approximation of a smile and concentrate on staying calm.

"It's me."

"Oh, well, that's okay then!" he beams, perching himself on the chair nearest mine, perpetual lollipop dangling from the corner of his mouth. "It scared the life out of me when I saw...y'know... two of you..."

"I'm scared by it too."

There is silence as we both try to pretend that neither of us has noticed the slip in tenses, an old fear re-emerging in technicolour and oh, so so close now.

Kio catches sight of the note and before I think to shove it away in my pyjama pocket (odd, seeing as I'm fairly sure I fell asleep with my clothes on) he whips it out of my hand and scans down it, obviously hoping for something far more scandalous than what's actually written down.

I expect him to raise his eyebrows and make some sort of joke, most likely involving the word "pervert" or to go into one of his dramatic sulks. What I don't expect is for him to level a reproachful stare at me.

"You know, sometimes I think you _do_ forget, Ricchan. I mean, Sou-chan's been cutting class for the last few weeks to run around after you, he always comes back with some kind of new bandage when he's been out with you and most of the time, you act like you don't even care... You should take better care of him."

At this point, a strange phenomenon occurs- I split into two separate entities. Logical Ritsuka argues that I am only a child and _I_ should be the one being taken care of, while Ritsuka who shouldn't be listened to because he couldn't be objective about Soubi to save his life reasons that Soubi is probably more childlike than I am in the first place. Wonders what made him like that- whether it was Seimei or whether it came before him.

I shut out Logical Ritsuka. The fruit bowl is empty and I haven't forgotten, no, I haven't. I'll tell him when he gets back.

* * *

It's longer than I thought since I've been to class- that much I can tell from the stares I attract as I slide open the door to the classroom ten minutes late. Fashionably late? There is no such thing.

"Ah, Agatsuma-san. You've decided to grace us with your presence, I see?" Mikumo, the professor who heads up the Japanese Art department is famously bad-tempered and my absence over the past few weeks obviously rankles with him.

"I've been busy."

"You're toeing the line of expulsion, Agatsuma-kun. If your coursework weren't so exceptional you'd already be out. I take it you have an explanation for the past few weeks, yes?"

I consider. There are any number of excuses I could pull out and the response that springs to mind is one I cannot give.

_Because I love somebody I shouldn't. Because I would rather pull my own lungs out through my mouth than leave him when he needs me._

"My mother died. As you would expect, there have been various functions at which my presence was required." It is only partially a lie- the woman I resemble has been in the ground for so long that I barely remember her at all.

"Oh." Mikumo evidently doesn't know how to tiptoe around something like this, instead clearing his throat and indicating my workspace, already set up with a blank canvas- doubtless due to Kio.

There will be no butterflies today- I know exactly what I will paint before the brush even touches the canvas. The second painting of its kind, the second third of a triptych, a trio of Ritsukas. Because if there was ever anyone on the face of the earth who was born to be painted, there's no question that person is Ritsuka.

Fragile frame and lopsided smile with traces of heart spilling out from the corners because it doesn't quite fit in that small body of his- oh, he puts the angels in the Sistine Chapel to shame and surely they'd cover their faces and cry if they knew how utterly outshone they were.

But there's something wrong with the eyes I've sketched out. The wrong eyes. These don't belong to my Ritsuka, they belong to the other and just this mistake alone is enough to send me into a panic. It isn't a betrayal- just an error of shape and shading, ink washed to too light a consistency, light refracted at the wrong angles.

That doesn't mean I don't feel a traitor. I stay well into the evening until I am certain that the Ritsuka captured in the ink is without a doubt the right one.

I walk home, the way I always do; because having a car in the city is little less than stupidity. I've seen too many wrapped around lampposts or crushed into each other like broken accordions to have any desire to drive one myself, even if I could afford to. It's unseasonably cold and the moon glares down, a cruel brilliant slice of white that jars against the shadows, distorting the world into weird gradations of monochrome.

I round the street corner and stop dead. So this is what a heart attack must feel like- the realisation that even the simplest mechanism of all is just too much, a reflex severed away, the textbook definition of pain. Even to someone like me, it's agonising.

_When I'm here and when I'm not... Think only of me. _

I know that face too well to dismiss it as a trick of the light- the languorous curve of the upper lip, the airless vacuum of those eyes. That figure leaning darkly graceful against concrete, that air of utter control.

_Love can be given up easily. Things such as love and hate can change in an instant. But something like control will last forever._

"Seimei?"

"Didn't anyone ever tell you, Soubi?" he smiles, a smile laced with scorn, one I learned first to be wary of, then to fear. "You don't need to be asleep to have nightmares."

* * *

**A/N: **Another cliffhanger? Oh, I'm an awful person, I know... So so sorry but you'll have to wait for the next chapter! Be sure to let me know what you think of this one, dearies :3 Rest assured, you won't have to wait NEARLY as long for Chapter 7 as you did for this one ^^

Also, many thanks go to the wonderful Mute Wordsmith for agreeing to be my beta reader!


	7. Easily Broken

**A/N: **Adhjchkdkjldkh;ldkh I am so so sorry for the lateness of this, my lovely readers! Uh... consider it an Advent present? *runs off to write next chapter before she is besieged by death threats and pointy objects* And, fear not, the next chapter is Original Ritsuka-centric :3 All the things that are happening here may seem unrelated but they're essential to the grand finale I'm planning ;)

A massive thankyou goes to my lovely beta Mute Wordsmith for keeping me going with Soubi art and suchforth while I was spazzing at her about having writer's block and generally going a little bit crazy :3

* * *

I forget how to breathe. The fact that Seimei is so unmistakably here breaks down my reflex arcs and my poor lungs flop helplessly around in my ribcage because if Seimei is here then I don't matter any more. I am a tool, however highly developed, an inanimate object and he loves me no more than he would a snow shovel or a pickaxe.

That is of no consequence- my sole function is to carry out his commands. But there is a part of me that doesn't want to listen, that wants Ritsuka and only Ritsuka. It doesn't care that I have never and can never disobey Seimei, it cries out for Ritsuka's gentleness, his skin against mine, the taste of his name on my tongue.

_When I'm here and when I'm not... You are mine. _

Absolutes are the strongest spells of all, even more so when they overlap. I belong to both. I belong to neither. Did you imagine possession to be something monochromatically simple- pared down and posterised until all that is left is black and white and the shade that used to be grey could have been something you had only imagined? Black and white don't meet and there is no medium.

Which makes it that much more heart-shattering when you stand between them.

"Hm. Not pleased to see me? How rude of you, Soubi..."

I try to recall the mechanics of speech- how tongue and tooth and larynx are supposed to interact, how to claw a voice up out of what is, after all, a vibrating box of muscle. It takes a while before I can speak.

"Why are you here?"

Seimei frowns, any smugness that was in those eyes before turning to sharp disapproval.

"I don't recall saying you could ask me questions. And I certainly don't recall you doing anything to merit my giving you any answers... in fact, as I remember it, you were very uncooperative the last time we met..."

_"Seimei. Please don't make Ritsuka suffer. Don't... make Ritsuka afraid."_

_Defiance does not exist, nor insubordination, disobedience or any other synonym you might choose- it's pointless even to try to resist that voice, as futile as cutting your own head off to save having to wear a hat. But if you had to... if it was for someone who held you so profoundly spellbound that you didn't doubt for a moment you'd gladly die for them, how could you refuse?_

_He tries to disobey but the function is not programmed in and the window shatters with a few words. Doubly traitorous. He does not deserve Ritsuka's hand in his as they leave the library, nor his face buried in Soubi's neck as they sleep and it's almost saddening that Ritsuka doesn't seem to realise that a betrayal of this magnitude deserves the same level of punishment._

Yes. I remember. In Seimei's mind, non-cooperation is as bad as flouting orders and usually treated with the same punishment, a few inventive little swirls with the knife over old scar tissue and then the silent treatment for days on end. Seimei would not speak and I would not eat and Kio would bemoan my idiocy until all of a sudden it would stop as though nothing had happened.

I almost expect the same now.

I am surprised as his gaze flickers down to the pavement, coming to rest on the shards of what might have once been a bottle, radiating glassily around my feet. Anyone else might not notice the tightening of his mouth at the corners and the eyebrows drawing down but from experience, I know exactly what has triggered it. Seimei hates untidiness, dirt, litter of any kind- you could almost call it a phobia.

"I do hate it when people can't be bothered to clear up their own trash," Seimei says, in what would be a casual tone, were it not for the undertone of annoyance streaked through it. He purses his lips for a moment as though coming to a decision, then breaks into a slow smile.

"I think we should do our bit to keep the city tidy, don't you? Pick it up, Soubi. There's a trash can right next to you."

Forget the obvious filthiness of the street, the fragments of glass alone almost seem to whisper of lacerations, severed arteries, septicaemia. Dim-remembered echos of pain. But not forgotten.

The command hits my ear canal and I am no longer Soubi, no longer human or even animate. I am a marionette with the strings pulled too tight, a plaything for the puppetmaster. Little Petrouchka, cursed with a soul in a body of sawdust and scarred wood _(and why would you give a puppet a soul anyway- it's not as though he knows what to do with it so really isn't it just as well he's given it away of his own free will?)_. Petrouchka died, that's the only part I remember.

I bend down, raking the jagged pieces of glass into the palm of my hand with my fingers. An edge catches on the thin skin between my index and middle finger, tracing a bloody line.

"You're not holding them tight enough- you'll drop them if you aren't careful. Clench your fist," comes the order and I realise that, yes, this is my punishment, though it seems unusually mild.

The shards bite into my palm as I tighten my grip, slicing skin, cutting in deeper. One drives in at the knuckle and stops, impeded by bone.

_"I don't get it. Why would you want someone else to hurt you?"_

_"I don't. I don't like pain."_

_"Then why don't you ever tell anyone to stop?"_

_The answer's simple- it's because "no" is not a word that's ever been permitted him. He wants to tell Ritsuka that he doesn't _like_ the pain, he just doesn't know how to stop it._

I drop the fragments into the trash can, one by one. Any first aider would tell you that under no circumstances should you remove glass from a wound on your own- the glass acts as a plug, preventing further bleeding- but I ignore this and lever them out, ripping fresh corners into the cuts. Blood streams dark and salty down my wrist, between my fingers, staining my sleeve.

Seimei tilts his head to one side, obviously growing bored. It's nothing new to see me bleed after all.

"I'm tired of looking at you. Leave. Oh, and before I forget... you are not to tell Ritsuka that you've seen me tonight. Ritsuka doesn't like it when you lie to him, does he? I wonder how you'll explain the mess you've made of your hand?"

Of course. The glass is just the opening act- the true punishment is still to come. After all, as Seimei has evidently picked up on, hurting Ritsuka is the most effective way of hurting myself.

Mutually assured destruction.

_Leave. _What else can I do? I don't know what streets I take to get home, nor how long it takes and I am so preoccupied that I almost wander into the path of a passing car, frozen in the headlights. When I finally reach the metal staircase outside my apartment, I pause, desperate to delay the explanation I will not be able to give.

Yesterday night I stitched Ritsuka back together, tonight it seems I'll unpick them all. Irony in its most distilled form.

* * *

Seven hours. I almost want to laugh at myself that I've actually counted them by the clock- because really it doesn't matter whether Soubi's been gone seven hours, seven months, or even seven years, or at least it shouldn't matter. It's obsessive behaviour, however you look at it- but then from what I've seen, madness seems to run in the Aoyagi family.

What would kill more time? _And for that matter how could you kill time- would the usual methods work on something so expert in stretching itself out centuries long? _Making tea would take some time.

I drag a chair over to the kitchen unit where the cupboard I know the teacups are in stands just out of reach. Balancing on the chair, I open the glass-fronted door and select the first cup I can see- a pale porcelain one that looks hand-painted, with the kind of splashing abstract colours that are on nearly all of Soubi's canvases.

After a moment's thought, I reach for a second cup and set them both down on the kitchen counter, flipping the switch of the kettle on. The only tea I can find is black- a fact that strikes me as odd, I like black tea, but I know Soubi prefers green.

I hunt for milk and sugar while the water boils and retrieve a teaspoon from the drawer. The kettle clicks as the water bubbles to the required hundred degrees and I drop a tea bag into each cup then heave the kettle off the element and tip an unsteady stream of steaming water into them both.

I add both milk and three sugars to my cup, stirring and discarding the tea bag before taking a sip. It's too hot and it burns my tongue. I start involuntarily at the sensation and really it's just a coincidence I drop the teacup at the exact same moment that Soubi opens the door and it shatters loudly on the tiles so that I'm standing surrounded by shards of china with scalding hot tea seeping into my jeans.

It's a coincidence that he happens to be wearing the blank lost look that makes my heart hurt, the one I've only seen perhaps once or twice before.

_"Ritsuka, I... Something really scary happened."_

_"I'm begging you, Ritsuka. Run away and take me with you. If you don't... I don't know what could happen."_

Even having only seen it a couple of times is too much- seeing him regress to the level of a child standing in a burning house wondering why nobody is coming to save it and_ knowing that I don't know how to make it better. _

My remedy is a pure guess. I pick my way through the smashed china to where Soubi stands motionless by the still-open door, not even seeming to care that the cold is coming in and wrap my arms around his waist as tightly as I can as if something as small and thin and _loveless _as me could make whatever the bad thing is that's happened go away.

_"You really are stupid. If that's all, I'll do it whenever you want..."_

After a while, Soubi relaxes and I feel his head droop forwards to rest on the top of mine, his hair tickling my ears, light against dark. I feel dampness soaking through my sleeve and draw away momentarily. From elbow to shoulder, my sleeve is stained an unmistakable red.

It is not my blood. A dark stain spreads through the fabric of Soubi's coat pocket, the one he's hiding his hand in.

"Soubi... what did you do to your hand?"

"It's nothing."

Nothing is the absence of anything. Nothing does not bleed. I gently grasp Soubi's wrist and he goes limp as I pull on it, manoevring his hand out of his pocket. His palm is quite literally in shreds, a raw mess of muscle, torn skin and dark congealing blood. I see a glimpse of white at the knuckle and realise that it's bone, peeking out into a light it was never supposed to see. For a moment I think I might want to throw up.

"H-how did this happen? Tell me!" I manage to squeak, once the shock has worn off enough.

"I don't know." Soubi's reply is so quiet that I have to strain my ears to catch it. So idiotic that something inside me snaps.

"You said you wouldn't lie to me any more! Not telling me the truth is the same as lying! There's no way that could have happened without you realising and you know it as well as I do! You make me promises like they don't mean anything and then you go and break them!"

_"What am I to you? Am I your cat! Your pet! Your girlfriend! Wrong!"_

"Then Ritsuka should punish me."

_The scars resemble barbed wire, so dark they are almost purple, the colour of perpetual reopening. A burn or a cut would have faded by now but these have been split apart again and again, a thick shiny mass of nerveless tissue. He doesn't think he's ever wished so much that he could reach out and heal Soubi up with a brush of his fingertips. That he could reach out, full stop. _

"I won't do that to anyone! Not now, not ever!" I yell, infuriated that Soubi would even think I could stand to bruise and break someone for the sake of a little petty revenge.

"Stay there," I warn, as I pad across to the medicine cabinet and pull out antiseptic, gauze and a roll of bandages. I spray and tape and wrap until Soubi's hand is hidden once again.

Soubi rests his free hand on the back of my neck, stirring his fingers through my hair. "Thank you, Ritsuka," he murmurs, when I've finished.

"Idiot. This doesn't make any of this okay. I'm still mad at you, okay?" I snap, as I turn to leave the room, the print of his fingers still warm on my skin.

_If you love me, why do you lie to me?_

* * *

_You can break most things- promises, bones, silence, even hearts. Especially hearts. But sometimes you don't have to go to the trouble of doing it yourself. Sometimes they crack themselves apart with only the slightest touch, leaving you to sit back and decide which pieces you'll pick up and carry away. Which ones you'll discard as being of no further use. I don't need to show you my face yet, you see, little Ritsuka but when I do, you'll come running to me of your own free will._

_Sometimes I make the breaks- in this case, I'm just forcing them further apart. Sleep well if you can, little one. I've heard mutual heartbreak doesn't make for pleasant dreams._


	8. Interlude

**A/N: **Like, uh, hi? I'M NOT DEAD AFTER ALL, GUYS! Life momentarily chewed up all my time and spat it out in a heap but this chapter marks the End Of Filler Fic for this story! Now we're coming close to the grand finale, please sit back, grab a snack and enjoy the interlude before the drama begins!

* * *

And so we come to an interval in our tale of symmetry and dissimilarity, morning after night. Allow me to draw the curtain across the stage for the moment as we move into a new day, allow me a little respite, perhaps some sleep, if only for those few hours where the world is so still you could think time had stopped.

Even machines need some time to recalibrate after all.

* * *

_Morning is a difficult thing for some. It means waking up, facing up to the mistakes of the previous day, trying to start afresh. But then of course for some it is ridiculously easy, nothing more complicated than another rotation of the earth, the beginning of yet another school day. Such is the case for one Hawatari Yuiko as she skips from her front door, high ponytails bouncing, as pink as the early morning sky. _

_Yuiko has but one purpose today and that is to source Ritsuka's whereabouts- she'll start with school, though she's unsure as to whether he'll turn up, and if that doesn't work, she'll call Soubi and if that doesn't work... well, suffice it to say she is more focused than she appears. _

_"Yuiko-san! Good morning!" She turns her head as a bespectacled boy in a V-necked tank top waves wildly and dashes over to her, just as she reaches the school gates. _

_"Morning, Yayoi-san!" she replies, guiltily aware that she isn't quite matching his level of enthusiasm. "Y-you haven't seen Ritsuka-kun anywhere today, have you?" _

_Yayoi's smile darkens to a frown and he points resignedly behind her. Yuiko whips around in delight to see Ritsuka standing right behind her, slight and dark as ever with the same worn-out nylon schoolbag slung over his shoulder but looking happier to see her than she can remember ever having seen him. _

_"Morning, Yuiko-chan!" he beams and Yuiko is so taken aback that she blushes deep salmon pink, because this is the only time Ritsuka's ever addressed her so familiarly. She's fallen quite happily into her role of being the best friend whose adoration goes unrequited and she's more than a little confused- "chan" is for cute girls after all and Yuiko's almost gotten used to the fact that the only person who seems to think she's cute is Yayoi. _

_Yuiko's relieved when the bell shrills out and pupils begin to stream into class. She watches Ritsuka carefully for the entire morning- something is different but she can't seem to put her finger on it. As Shinonome-sensei hands the class back the drafts they'd written for their end-of-term history assignments, Yuiko thinks she's worked it out. _

_The Ritsuka she knows just isn't this cheerful. It's a gift getting a smile from him because they don't come as often, practically New Year come early when she manages to coax a laugh from him. The Ritsuka she knows is smart and brave with sadness lurking like an unwelcome ghost around the corners of his eyes. For all it makes Yuiko happy that Ritsuka seems to be so happy this morning, there's something not quite right about it. _

_She wonders if he's feeling quite all right today and hopes, a little ashamed of herself, that he'll be back to his normal self tomorrow. _

_Yayoi, on the other hand, seems to prefer this new cheerful Ritsuka and they chat quite animatedly at breaktime- a few of their classmates even join in, dropping their customary suspicion of the three. _

_The next lesson is looming and Shinonome-sensei is wilting at her desk. Today's the first day Aoyagi Ritsuka's been in school for nearly a week and the relief she feels at having seen him walk through the door at registration is almost overwhelming- intensified by the fact that he appears to be free of his usual injuries. _

_She regains her senses as the sixth graders troop back into the classroom chattering and waits for them to take their seats before clearing her throat and announcing brightly that they have a surprise kanji test and would everyone please put their books under their seats and take a piece of paper to write on. _

_Most of the class obediently quiets down but, as always, there are a few still talking and Shinonome-sensei is shocked to see that Ritsuka is amongst them. She's not sure why she's so angry at this- maybe something to do with the fact that having somebody you trust to do what is best flout your expectations feels every bit as humiliating as a kick to the face._

_"Aoyagi Ritsuka-kun! Since you don't seem to think my lesson is worth listening to, you can go and stand at the back of the class! You'll come back and do the test at lunchtime," she snaps, finding she can't meet the eyes of her shocked pupils. This silence, she thinks guiltily, is not the one she wanted._

_The rest of the day, like most other days, is fairly uneventful, at least to my eye. I can't say I really remember much of being in elementary school myself. _

_Shinonome sits at her desk, tearfully trying to fathom how overly intelligent Ritsuka-kun could feasibly have gotten two marks out of twelve on a fairly simple kanji test because this just _is not_ like the boy she has come to know. Yuiko's happiness is edged with concern though she scolds herself for finding it so hard to believe that Ritsuka might just be having a really good day rather than that he is transfigured by some odd and unknown magic. As for the others, I think you would agree they are satisfied. Oblivious. Ignorance truly is bliss._

* * *

_It begins with red usually. The acrylics rather than Soubi's normal water-based inks, quick-drying and easy to layer up, thick and bewildering as pain. Kio can always tell there's something wrong when the base of Soubi's artwork takes on a human shade: the dark purple of a pulsing kidney, the delicate grey-pink of brain tissue or, more often than not, the familiar shade of spilled blood. _

_"Okay, spill it. What's eating you, Sou-chan?"_

_Soubi's hand tightens around the brush so forcefully that it snaps clean across at the middle. An expensive brush too, Crimson and Blake, imported all the way from England. _

_"It was my fault. That's everything you need to know."_

_Just those ten words instantly give away the problem. "You and Ricchan had another fight, right?"_

_Soubi shrugs, the halfhearted one that's meant to look as though he really couldn't care less when actually any fool could see that there is sadness seeping so deeply into his bones that it probably won't ever wash out. Kio doesn't know whether he wants to shake Soubi or hug him. __He has trouble figuring either of them out sometimes- beautiful damaged Soubi, with his total lack of any sense of self-worth and the boy he so plainly adores. Little Ritsuka who brings Soubi home in tatters but is still the only person who can make Soubi's eyes light up just by being in the same room. _

_Who still doesn't seem to realise that someone who has been hurt so many times before needs to be looked after as much as any child._

_"Y'know, Sou-chan... you could do a lot worse."_

_Soubi frowns and lets the broken brush roll off his palm onto the floor. "A lot worse than what?"_

_The silence has its own voice and speaks more clearly than mere words could convey. The other Ritsuka. Innately happy, possessed of no sharp edges on which Soubi could be cut. A safe choice, wouldn't you agree?_

_"I won't do that. Not ever." _

_Kio heaves a deep sigh and shakes his head with the air of a parent faced with a stubborn child who won't agree to be helped. He likes Ritsuka. He just doesn't like the way he doesn't seem to take notice of how much Soubi needs him. _

_That does seem to be the problem with love, I've noticed. Sometimes you don't even know it's happening until you are deep enough in to drown. _

_

* * *

_

Hospitals tend to look the same wherever you go- obsessively clean and unbelievably easy to get lost in, as though making the building so labyrinthine would confuse death enough that it would never find its way to the wards. Of course, death doesn't tend to have cause to visit Psychiatry- this section of the hospital is for the breakage you cannot necessarily see but that can destroy as surely as any cancer.

Katsuko-sensei has seen damage enough. The first thing a doctor learns is to minimise emotional involvement with the patient and after a while in the job, it has become easier not to become tangled up in the tragic madnesses of those she tries to help, though this does not mean for a second that she doesn't care about them. She cares about Aoyagi Ritsuka.

Not simply because of the peculiar nature of his illness- Katsuko-sensei is well-acquainted with multiple personality disorder but as for a personality completely disappearing and a new one taking its place, she isn't sure at all how that could have happened- but because Ritsuka is simply unlike any other child she has ever met, startingly mature with a knowledge of pain that is horribly at odds with his twelve years.

_She checks her watch. It's four o'clock and, sure enough, there is a knock at her door. "Come in!" Katsuko-sensei calls, a little redundantly as Ritsuka is already swinging the door open. Walking in, he unhooks his schoolbag from his shoulder and plops down on the couch opposite her in the curiously boneless way of the very young._

"How are you today, Ritsuka-kun?" she asks, taking up her clipboard ready to begin this session's notes.

"I'm absolutely fine, Katsuko-sensei!" Ritsuka's reply is accompanied by a smile of such radiance that Katsuko-sensei is taken aback for a moment. She can't remember ever having seen such animation in his face before.

"You seem unusually... cheerful today, Ritsuka-kun," she smiles back.

"Oh... Is it a bad thing to be cheerful?" he asks in a puzzled tone, tipping his head to one side.

"N-no, of course not!" Katsuko hastens to reply, mentally scolding herself. "Shall we begin?"

She fires off the normal opening questions as per usual but Ritsuka's replies are anything but normal- that is to say, they would be typical of most ordinary children, but not of this child. They are oddly indicative of someone younger, with a playful innocence which is seldom found in Ritsuka's usual conversation. Katsuko-sensei flips to the front of her notes and scans down the page quickly.

Aoyagi Ritsuka, age twelve. Displays signs of multiple personalities following unexplained amnesia at age ten, however his "original" personality appears to have disappeared. Commented by teachers that he seems to be an entirely different person. Until age ten, a sociable and extroverted chid with many friends but academically average. Now finds it hard to get on with others though his grades are excellent.

_Sociable and extroverted. Katsuko-sensei knows who she sits before, even if it seems ridiculous. The good doctor is, apparently, more perceptive than one would credit, given her young age and evident attachment to little Ritsuka. She presses a hand to her temple and closes her eyes, trying to take in the skewedness of the situation. _

_"Katsuko-sensei? Are you alright?" Ritsuka- or potentially not Ritsuka, if she is indeed correct- peers at her with incomprehension in his eyes._

_She murmurs that she has a headache and perhaps it would be best if he came back tomorrow when she is feeling better. Evidence of the impossible from your own eyes is difficult to take in, even if you specialise in minds which delight in playing tricks._

* * *

_You are not watching a mirror. Mirror images, yes, identical down to the last freckle and chickenpox scar but so different that it seems inconceivable that two polar opposites could share the same name, the same entity. Which one is Aoyagi Ritsuka? Both are. Neither are. They perch on the edge of the sofa and stare at each other, seemingly fascinated by how perfectly symmetrical they are._

_One turns his head and looks away for a moment as if he cannot bear to be reminded of all the things he is supposed to be but is not- charming, effortlessly cheerful and outgoing. He is simply trying to keep his head above the water for as long as he is allowed. Before he drowns._

_"Did you read them? The files I left you on the computer?"_

_"Of course I did!" the other beams, the smile seeming out of place in the darkened room, "how else would I have known about Yuiko-chan and Yayoi-san?"_

_The one who spoke first nods slowly, processing the information._

You always said you'd give it up right away if the other came back. But that was when you were so empty that you didn't much care about anything because nothing could be harder than just trying to endure the rest of your life. You didn't know him then. You didn't love him then.

_"I didn't write everything down. If you win, you need to do something for me."_

_"What is it?"_

_Ritsuka takes a deep breath. "Take care of Soubi. He's been hurt and he isn't very good at taking care of himself. And he loves us."_

_"Do we love him?" The question from his younger self is so simple that Ritsuka finds he can't speak for a moment. _

_"Yes. He doesn't know yet but we do. Always."_

_Unfortunately the truth does not seem to get any lighter or any less heartwrenching once spoken. Once something is made real, you know you aren't dreaming any more. Time to wake up, little one. _

_

* * *

_**A/N: **Oh all those lovely italics... I have to admit doing a chapter as dear stalkerish Seimei was pretty fun =P Aaand the scoreboard stands at...

Ritsuka: 3  
Original Ritsuka: 3

OH SNAP IT'S A DRAW =O Looks like the ball's in Soubi's court now, huh? Stay tuned for Act Two of Symmetry, my lovely readers~


End file.
